Zootopia: Rise Up
by Osiris28840
Summary: The story of an Immigrant to Zootopia, who helps the colony gain its independence from King Leo IV, and helps found a new nation, better than the oppressive monarchy. (Historical Fiction set in Zootopian version of Revolutionary war)
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

Two foxes, both standing, staring at each other. That is what the onlookers see. Two foxes, their gazes locked, their arms at their sides. The guns in their hands just loaded and checked. The doctor turned around for deniability. A duel, a manner of settling a slight of one fox by another. One fox an experienced duelist with dozens of successes under his belt, the other a fox scorned. One a fox of influence and power, the other a mere tailor. Their seconds look at each other, and began their count.

"One."

The powerful fox muses. _I have imagined death so often it feels to me like a friend I've yet to meet. Shall I finally get to meet him, or will this man have the pleasure before me?_

The other simply regrets having challenged.

"Two."

The tailor wonders. _Will I take this man's life? Will he take mine? Which is worse?_

The other smirks.

"Three."

The fox of influence doubts. _If I am given the honor of meeting death, however, will it be worth it?_

The other continues to fear.

"Four."

The scorned fox hopes. _Maybe we'll both miss. Then I'll claim I am satisfied, and I can go on with life._

The other sighs.

"Five."

The experienced duelist continues to doubt. _Will meeting death be worth never seeing her again?_

The other continues to hope.

"Six."

The clothier thinks. _But what if he doesn't miss? I'll never see my wife or daughter again._

The other thinks as well.

"Seven."

The successful fox fears. _I have imagined death so often it feels to me like a friend I've yet to meet. Is this where he takes me? Will this be my legacy? A death at the hand of a tailor, a marriage devoid of the love that previously filled it, a daughter orphaned as I was?_

The other fears as well.

"Eight."

The inexperienced fox tightens his grip on his pistol. _I'm a terrible shot. All my fellow soldiers in the army would agree. I'll never hit him, I'll die here. I'll… I'll never see them again._

The other's grip tightens as well.

"Nine."

Both foxes think. _This fox will not make an orphan of my daughter._

They begin to raise their guns. Whether to the sky or each other, neither is quite sure.

"Ten."

Click. Fizz. Boom. The two guns fire simultaneously. Dust and smoke envelope both of the duelists, shrouding them after their shots. And as the dust settles, the three onlookers, the duelists' respective seconds, and the doctor who turned around after hearing the shots, watch as the scene unfurls before their eyes.

Two foxes, one sprawled over the dirt, a pool of blood gathering around him. The other, shaking. He drops his gun, his hands trembling, his mind wondering, _What have I done? What. Have. I. Done?_ The seconds drag him away as he trembles, the doctor rushes to the other fox. One has died, the other has lived, and an innocent wife and daughter have become an innocent widow and orphan.

* * *

 **Chapter One**

Ten years earlier.

A ship slowly trails up the coast, and a single mammal, standing on the bow looks out over the harbor they are entering and sees the coastline of a city across it. The buildings are not large, many only being houses and shops, and the majority being less than three stories, but they were packed together and numbered at least in the hundreds.

Dozens of spires and bell towers from churches rose up from the stunted skyline, and the mammal's face morphs into a small smile. A new city, in which he could be a new mammal. A realm of possibilities stretching as far as his eyes could see. A city where he wouldn't experience the ignominious reputation for which he was known on that hellish isle of his birth. The bastard son of a whorish woman and an unsuccessful plantation owner who left when the young mammal was only nine years of age, for fear of debtor's prison he fled the isle, leaving his son and paramour behind.. His father had left, and his mother was dead. He was an orphan in Sainte-Renard, but here in Zootopia City, he could be anything. He could rise up over his stunted youth, like the spires and bell towers over a stunted skyline.

The ship docked, and the mammal stepped down, climbing the ladder down to the dock, and upon his paws hitting the ground, he looked around, straightened his tricorne hat, and sauntered off the dock into the city. After a few hours of wandering, learning the layout of the city, he came to the infamous red district, where his destination, Queen's College, was located. He tried to shut out the hollering of the various mammals along either side of the thin street, advertising their services to him, and he pulled his hat down closer to his eyes. He came out the other end of the alley, into a large, graveled common square. A large statue stood in the center, brass gilded over lead, in a likeness of King Leo IV, standing at least twenty feet tall, clad in the robes of a roman emperor, a golden wreath atop his mane. His right arm held out, bent at the elbow, in a roman salute, his right holding a massive flagpole, flying the Union Jack. Soldiers in red uniforms marched through the square, performing their midday drills, rifles over their shoulders, bayonets already fixed. The mammal couldn't help but look on in awe.

"Thinkin' of stealin' that statue, fox? Keep movin'!" shouted another soldier from behind him. The fox kept his head high, refusing to bow to such a prejudiced soldier. He moved along though, knowing the line between disrespect and insubordination was near. He crossed the square, coming to a large, walled in compound. Another flagpole was inside the gate, flying the Union Jack, and below it, the flag of Queen's College. He walked through the large gate and found himself on a grassy yard, with other young mammals milling about, and he crossed the yard to the main building, crossing the threshold into the lobby and being greeted by yet another sight of overwhelming beauty. The room was lined with stone columns, a tile floor, and a vaulted ceiling. It reminded him of the paintings of castles he'd seen in his bosses' offices. At the far end of the room was a desk with a young male wolf. The fox walks up to the desk.

"Hello. Nick Wilde, here to see the headmaster Aaron Bear." said the fox, and the wolf didn't look up from the letter he was writing, just pointing to a door on the side of the room. Nick walked over to it, opening it slowly.

"Excuse me, are you Aaron Bear, sir?" Nick asked as he entered the room.

"Well that depends. Who's asking?" replied the bear sitting at his desk, spectacles dangling from his nose.

"Oh, well sure, sir. I'm Nick Wilde, a new student here at Queen's College, sir."

"I see. What are you going to study?"

"Law, sir."

"Hum… Law? I've never heard of a fox wanting to study the law for any good reason. You aren't just interested in skirting the law, are you, Mr. Wilde?"

"No, sir. I'm interested in becoming a solicitor, sir."

"Why, that would be a first. A fox solicitor. Why not try for governor while you're at it?"

"Sir, if you don't think I'm fit for the law, that's fine. Let me prove you wrong, sir."

"Fine." said the bear, letting out a sigh. "You'll get a shot at it, but if you make one mistake, break the college's rules one time, you're out. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Nick walked into the inn, and up to the small bar, behind which stood an elderly armadillo.

"What do you want, fox?"

"Just a room. And… three boiled eggs, please."

"That'll be a crown and tanner, fox."

Nick reached into his pocket and pulled out five shilling coins and a sixpence coin and handed them to the armadillo, who looked over each coin as if checking to see they were real. He then handed Nick a key and wrapped three boiled eggs in a piece of cloth.

"Room 105, fox."

Nick made his way to the room and set down his suitcase, breathing in the scent of the room. By Zootopian standards, it was terrible. The paint was peeling from the walls, it was undersized, and the bed, if you could even call it that, was horrendous. But Nick was used to life in Sainte-Renard as a peasant, and while it was somewhat better than the life of a Sainte-Renardian slave, that was of little comfort to the peasants. Nick was just happy to have his own walls for the paint to peel from. Where he was from, most peasants lived six or eight to a room, not much larger than the ones at this inn. He unpacked his case, hanging his only other suit and his two other shirts on the clothes valet in the corner, placing his additional neckcloths, his sole luxury, of which he had seven plus the one he wore, all of beautiful china silk, patterned in paisleys and swirls. Each neckcloth had cost him a half sovereign, or ten shillings.\

He exited the room, locked the door, and went back down to the tavern portion of the inn. A group of mammals sat at one table, loudly discussing the crop blight in the Burrows and the losses it was inflicting on trade with the region. At another table were two soldiers, playing checkers, and at yet another table was what looked like a crazy man, but was more likely just a drunkard. Nick left the building, deciding it would be better to take a walk about town. He headed toward the college, thinking there would be some sort of event occurring, such as a game of cricket or a foot race to watch. As he approached the square, however, he heard shouting. As he got closer, he saw a donkey standing on a wooden pedestal, yelling to a small crowd of onlookers.

"Why should Leo here be allowed to quarter his men in our homes?! Why should he get to do that, and still tax our property, our paper, our food, our drink, and everything else we own?! No more! Rise up, Zootopia! Rise up!" As the donkey said this, five soldiers ran up to the pedestal, guns aimed forward.

"Get down, you ass!" yelled one, and the donkey brayed.

"No! I will not yield! Down with King Leo IV, Up with Zootopia!" he shouted as one of the soldiers' bayonets penetrated his suit. Blood leaked out of the donkey's mouth as another bayonet pierced his side, and the crowd's shouting grew louder. They descended on the soldiers, the three who hadn't stabbed the donkey fired a volley into the crowd and then bayoneted several others in the mob. The other two then fired into the crowd as well, as one of the mob split open a soldier's head with a rock. Ten other soldiers ran into the square, and arrested the crowd. As the mob was dragged away, kicking and screaming, Nick saw the dead strewn about the southern quarter of the square, one soldier and at least ten civilians, as well as the donkey slumped over his pedestal. A soldier approached Nick, gun aimed at him.

"You one of those crowd?" he barked at Nick. Nick's hands slowly rose into a position of surrender.

"Long live King Leo IV, sir. I'm merely a student at Queen's, sir." Nick replied, and was surprised when the soldier just grunted and walked away. Given the carnage he'd just witnessed, Nick was sure he'd be arrested or killed, if only to shut him up. He thought open displays of violence were a thing of the West Indian Islands. Perhaps Zootopia wasn't quite so different from Sainte-Renard after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's Chapter 2, finally. For those of you who've been waiting for this, I'm sorry I took so long. University takes a lot of time.**

* * *

Nick sat in class at the college, staring out the window at the common square, visible through the college gate. He couldn't stop thinking about what he'd seen, which was odd. Had he been in Sainte-Renard, such a scene would've been unremarkable, since such things happened almost daily. Slaves would fight the guards and be killed, or captured, taken to the village square, and given a number of lashings. So why was this relatively quick, tame scene so transfixing?

"Well, Mr. Wilde?" asked the professor, snapping Nick from his musing.

"It was shakespeare, sir. The play is about ambition's folly, and it's titular character is set into an overly ambitious quest when he is told by three witches that he is to become King, which causes him to take control of his kingdom, becoming a tyrant, and then is killed by a rival, sir."

"Yes, well, good enough, though I wasn't asking for a synopsis. You all ought to take after Mr. Wilde more. He isn't even paying attention and he was able to answer the question…" the professor droned on as Nick lost focus again, thinking back to the display of violence he'd witnessed a week prior.

A bayonet pierces the side of the yelling donkey, then another. Blood sprays onto the already red uniforms of the soldiers, out of the donkey's wounds, and his mouth. His yelling dies down, but the crowd's yelling crescendos, getting louder and louder as they descend on the soldiers, who open fire, then stab into the crowd. One of the dissenters picks up a stone from the ground, and bashes a soldier in the head, splitting him open like a melon. More soldiers rush into the square, guns aimed at the crowd. They are dragged away, kicking and screaming…

"Hey, fox." Nick heard, and was once again pulled from his thoughts.

"Huh?" he replied, turning to look at the speaker, another student, a marmot.

"You're looking at the square. Why? Thinking of some girl out there?"

"No… Just something I saw there a while back…"

"The massacre?" asked the marmot, causing Nick to look at him more closely.

"Massacre? That's what you call it? So it isn't a common occurrence?"

"No it isn't common. This is the first time a speaker's been killed, even an anti-monarch speaker, which there're a few of. I take it you aren't from around here, then?"

"No, Sainte-Renard, West Indian Islands. Why?"

"Well, a group I'm part of likes to… welcome new immigrants to the city. Meet us at the Jade Dragon Tavern, on Whale Street this evening, 'round about eight o'clock."

* * *

As Nick walked down the road, he checked the signs, looking for the Jade Dragon Tavern. He figured the marmot was probably planning on "welcoming" him with some sort of prank, but if it wasn't, he didn't want to skip the meeting. He may have been genuinely interested in welcoming immigrants. He walked around a bend in the road and saw, a few hundred yards down the way, a small sign with a painting of a dull green dragon.

He approached the sign, and as he came within a few yards of it, began to hear the tumult of several dozen conversations, arguments, glasses clinking, and the singing of drinking songs. He crossed the threshold into the dimly lit bar, and found it packed to the point that there were barely any open chairs. He pushed his way through the crowded aisle, to where he saw the marmot from earlier, around a table in the corner, with a Wolf, a rabbit, and a porcupine, as well as an open chair. The marmot waved him over.

"Hey, the fox made it!" he said, loudly enough to be heard over the din.

"H… Hello." said the porcupine, quietly and with a stutter. Nick was able to tell that the mammal was rather timid.

"Hey, don't mind his quietness. He's more at home with his ink than with people. He's quite skilled with the quill," said the wolf, smirking at the last bit. "I'm Abraham Wolfhull, and our timid friend is Thomas Porcupaine. His essay was just published, Common Sense, he really ought to take some confidence from that."

"Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lapinette." said the rabbit, making eye contact with the fox and smiling.

"I'm Benedict Whistler," said the marmot. "And we're the Cubs of Liberty."

"Cubs of Liberty?" Nick asked, "You all look a bit old to be cubs." That got a laugh from all four. Nick sat down, and the rabbit handed him a pint. "So, what do you all do?"

"What do you think of King Leo IV?" asked the marmot, Benedict.

"I have no real opinion. After all, Sainte-Renarde is a French colony, so I haven't lived under Leo's rule for long."

"Well, we a… aren't his biggest fans," said the porcupine, still stammering.

"We're fans of liberty. Of self-governance." said the wolf.

"So independence is what you're after?" asked Nick.

"Oui. Let's raise a glass to freedom, eh?" said the rabbit, loud enough to nearby patrons to understand him.

"Hear, Hear!" shouted quite a few of the nearby drinkers, raising their glasses. "To Freedom!"

Nick followed their lead and drunk from his glass.

* * *

Lieutenant Colonel William Sauveterre paced back and forth in his office. What was he to do? A tragedy. On his watch, no less.

"Excuse me, sir?" ventured a mole that had entered the room, head bowed.

"Yes?" the Lieutenant Colonel spat out.

"Master Howe is here to see you, sir." she said, backing out of the room as a deer walked in, dressed in a full officer's uniform, freshly pressed and red as the autumn leaves. The Lieutenant colonel snapped to attention, saluting the General as he entered.

"It is an honor, General," he said, looking the stag in the face.

"At ease, Sauveterre," said General Howe. "I have heard about the… so-called massacre. Were your men involved?"

"Yes, General. To my chagrin, sir, they were."

"Hmm. Well, unfortunately, it didn't do it's job. We've had increasing reports of dissenting behaviour throughout the city. Not to mention the recent protests in the Burrows. To think those damned carrot farmers have the nerve to stand up to his majesty. Thankfully, we were able to seize the arms of the subjects there before it got out of hand."

"Why are you telling me this, General? I am but a petty officer…"

"Not anymore, Major Sauveterre. It has come to my attention that you have experience in intelligence, from the recent war with the French. You've been promoted, to command a new arm of my intelligence corps."

"Command, General? Are you sure?"

"Yes. It certainly helps your case that you already have a connection with these dissenters."

"A connection, sir?"

"Yes. Your fiancee, Ms... Hopps, I believe it was? She is the cousin of one of the more well known dissenters, a certain Gabriel du Motier. I believe he is a French nobleman?"

William nodded, hiding his internal surprise. He didn't know his fiancee was related to nobility. He knew her family was wealthy, but not that they were of such high standing.

"Good. She may well become useful, should this dissent grow. Alas, I must leave you now, I have matters to attend to. I've had Adjutant General Grant invite you to his dinner party tonight. He shall discuss your role in greater detail, Major. Good day."

The general strode out of the room, and William stood, dumbstruck by the fact that he'd been promoted, when he had been expecting reprimandation for the massacre having occurred under his watch.

* * *

Two months prior

"Your majesty, we have received several bills for the expenses of the ships you commissioned, the ones lost in the war with the French, sir." said the ermine as he approached King Leo IV's throne. He handed several sheets of parchment to the King, and backed up, all while bowing his head.

"So pay them." said the lion sat at the throne.

"That is the problem, your highness… We, er… we cannot afford them, sir. The treasury is running low, the war was very costly, and our alliance with Spain means that our privateers have not been taking their galleons, which as you know, were until now, our main source of income, your majesty."

"What did you say?" hissed the lion, rising from his throne. "I cannot have debts. I am not the one who owes. I AM THE ONE WHO COLLECTS!" he roared, and he pounded his fist on the arm of his throne. The ermine whimpered and cowered beneath the mammal towering above him. "Find a way to get the money, you weasel. I don't care how, just pay the damned debt, or it'll be your fur lining my cape. Understood?"

The ermine nodded and scurried away, and as he left the throne room, he ceased his timid behaviour, an act for the king. He could proceed with the next part of his plan, having been given carte blanche from his majesty. He turned a corner, and found the Prime Minister, a rather corpulent wolf, standing in a doorframe.

"Ah, Lord North. How are you?" asked the ermine, making eye contact.

"Well enough. How did it go, Exchequer? Have we permission to raise taxes in the colonies?" said the Prime Minister, addressing the ermine.

"Yes. His majesty has given me free reign to collect money for his debts as I see fit. Have you finished the contracts with the West Indians? We will only have a small window of time to purchase the shipment of slaves once the tax money comes in, and I've no interest in holding onto a boat full of slaves while we wait for them to sign the contracts. Criminal speculation aside, hanging on to an entire shipment of their kind will eat into our profits."

"I have. They are on board. And I'd refrain from discussing the criminal element when we are so close to prying ears," replied the Prime Minister sternly.

* * *

As Nick set down his now empty glass of ale, the rabbit who had called the toast looked Nick in the eye.

"So, what about you? What do you think?" he asked, his gaze seemingly piercing Nick's soul.

"Well, I feel that no country should be ruled by a King who's never set foot within its borders, and lives on an island on the other side of the ocean. An Island, controlling a continent. Absurd. 'Small islands not capable of defending themselves are the proper objects for governments to take under their care; but there is something absurd, in supposing a Continent to be perpetually governed by an island. In no instance hath nature made the satellite larger than its primary planet; and as England and Zootopia, with respect to each other, reverse the common order of nature, it is evident that they belong to different systems. England to Europe: Zootopia to Itself.'" said Nick.

"Y… you've read my pamphlet?" asked the porcupine timidly.

"Indeed I have, Thomas. Great work," he replied, and saw the porcupine sit up a little straighter.

As they spoke, a group of men barged into the bar, cheering, their faces painted like the natives, carrying muskets. They strode over to the table with Nick and the others, and the one in the front, a rabbit not dressed as a native, but in simple farmer's clothing, waved to the others at the table.

"Who's the fox?" he asked, eying the vulpine suspiciously.

"Calm down, Phineas. He's on our side," said Gilbert, and the rabbit visibly relaxed at that.

"Phineas Stearns," said the rabbit, hand outstretched to the fox. "Pleasure to meet you. Anyway, Benny, we did it! The entire cargos of the Dartmouth, Eleanor, and the Beaver. 342 chests!"

"Sorry, did what?" Nick piped in, a look of confusion on his face.

"The recent Tea Act, requiring that we purchase British tea. They took three trade ships and dumped their cargo in the sound." said Benedict, pride filling his voice.

Suddenly, however, the sound of glass shattering filled Nick's ears, and several of the men dressed as natives, as well as innocent pub goers, slumped over, bleeding. Gabriel pulled Nick to the floor just as another volley of rounds penetrated the crowd, more mammals falling. Nick and the others that had been at his table began to crawl along the floor to the rear exit, as volley after volley of gunfire rang out. As they got through the back, Phineas being the first out, a gun was fired far closer. Phineas lowered his gun, ran over to the soldier he'd shot, and grabbed his arms. He kept the musket, and tossed the soldier's pistol to Benedict, who had been the second to exit. They ran down the alley, hoping to get far enough away from the fighting to avoid capture.

* * *

 **I hope you liked this chapter, especially since it took so long. If there's any part you feel could use improvement, or if you have any ideas, or anything, feel free to review. I can't improve my writing without criticism.**


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